


Maid, Knight, Queen

by doctornerdington



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Chivalry, F/F, Kissing, Lust, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Seduction, Semi-Public Sex, Wall Sex, power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6137242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctornerdington/pseuds/doctornerdington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You tease and you flirt,” Brienne murmured against her mouth, “you provoke, and you flick your pretty hair. You mock the maid; but you have stirred the knight.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maid, Knight, Queen

“Lady Brienne, a word.” Cersei spoke under her breath; her muted voice was difficult to hear in the midst of the banquet that swirled wildly around them, the crushing crowd pushing them together while musicians swooped and dancers sweated and writhed. Her words were intended for Brienne alone, her pitch calculated to make her struggle to hear them above the noise.

Brienne leaned closer, stiff and awkward in her court gown. “I’m no lady, Your Grace.”

“You're Lord Selwyn Tarth's daughter. That makes you a lady whether you want to be or not.”

Brienne frowned. “As you say, Your Grace.”  
  
Cersei nodded at the small capitulation and filed away that look – displeased and proud and faintly hurt – to consider later, at her leisure. She was always unsettled by power she didn’t understand, and this strange lady knight made her uneasy. Brienne was undoubtedly both powerful and unwilling to be controlled. Best put a stop to that, Cersei thought.

She tried another tactic: “I owe you my gratitude. You returned my brother safely to King's Landing.”  
  
Brienne looked at her sharply. “In truth, he rescued me, Your Grace. More than once.” Cersei did not now recognize the expression on Brienne’s face. Her eyes were so very blue.

Cersei drained her glass and called for more wine. “Did he? I haven't heard that story before.”

“Not such a fascinating one, I'm afraid.”

Cersei smiled, mouth thin as a blade. “I'm sure you have many fascinating stories. Sworn to Renly Baratheon. Sworn to Catelyn Stark. And now my brother. Must be exciting to flit from one camp to the next serving whichever lord or lady you fancy.”  
  
Brienne bristled. Oh, that was interesting. “I don't serve your brother, Your Grace.”

“But you love him.” She threw the words out like a challenge, but in truth she was more curious than angry. Loving Jaime was a thing she understood, at least.

Brienne reddened slightly under her scrutiny. She leaned closer to Cersei – so close that the Queen could feel sweet breath on her ear, in her hair.

“Pray, what do you imagine the Maid of Tarth would know about loving men?” she whispered.

Cersei drew back sharply. Around them, feast guests laughed and applauded the insipid juggler who had now stumbled into the room in a pantomime of drunkenness. She was not so foolish as to imagine their exchange had gone unnoticed, but the entertainments provided excellent privacy of a sort.

She took a long sip of wine, considering. Plastered a false smile to her face and nodded at the juggler. Lord Varys had lip-readers in his employ, and Cersei was not keen to provide him with more information than she could help. She leaned in again and spoke directly into Brienne’s ear, veiling their exchange with a curtain of golden hair.

“I think you long for him,” she whispered: a snake striking. “I think you ache for him. At night, alone in your chamber, I think you dream of fucking him. Are you wet right now, thinking of it?”

Brienne closed her eyes. Colour stood high on her face. The stupid woman couldn’t be subtle to save her life, Cersei thought, turning her head and watching her carefully. She expected virginal outrage. She expected indignation and cold withdrawal. She expected to triumph.

She did not expect what happened instead.

Brienne raised a hand to shield her mouth as if to whisper a reply, but instead of speaking she deliberately leaned in and licked the porcelain shell of Cersei’s proffered ear, tracing it with the tip of a delicate tongue. Cersei shuddered despite herself, despite the heat and the closeness of the crowd, despite her honest shock.

“Crude, Your Grace. Very crude. You think to alarm me. And yet, if I am wet right now, it is not for him.” Brienne’s voice was almost inaudible. Cersei caught herself leaning closer, straining to catch her every word. She should have been furious at Brienne’s audacity – should have slapped her, hard, and summoned her guard. But she was drawn in, and it was not until Brienne took her earlobe gently between her teeth and bit down hard enough to leave a mark that Cersei remembered herself, and jerked away.

“What are you?” Cersei hissed. In the span of a minute – no more – Brienne had made her feel like an itchy, gawky child; a girl playacting at seduction. A girl in far over her head. It was not a feeling with which she was much familiar, and the vulnerability of it made her angry. Suddenly she grabbed Brienne’s arm and pulled her off-balance, yanking her towards the door. The crowd parted before her, and she heard some small murmurs of surprise before the guests turned once more to the entertainments on offer. Brienne sailed along behind her without protest. Cersei hoped to the gods the woman knew better than to swagger.

She dragged Brienne to a small alcove off the courtyard that lay beyond the Great Hall and rounded on her once she was sure they were alone. It was dark at this late hour, and deserted; the guests all drawn to the entertainments within.

“If you know nothing of loving men, Maid of Tarth, what do you know?” Cersei was breathing hard. She felt almost dizzy with wine and food and a new, creeping warmth in her belly. Nothing had gone as she expected this night. She took a deep breath to regain her composure, but suddenly Brienne was moving close against her, tipping her head back, and all Cersei could see was ice blue eyes, and all she could smell was leather and wool. Coarse smells – natural to a knight, not a maid. Her body knew those smells well, knew the intimacy of them, and flared with heat.

“Just this, Your Grace. Only this,” Brienne whispered. And then she bent her head down and pressed her lips against Cersei’s, kissed her slow and hard, with a confidence that belied her self-effacing demeanor. She was skilled, Cersei had to admit. Her lips were firm and silky smooth; her tongue teased and retreated, traced Cersei’s own lips, thrust and parried, until Cersei opened to her unthinkingly, blindly, almost desperately. Her mouth tasted of the sweet wine they had been served, of almonds and honey. Cersei closed her eyes and surrendered to it, to the urgency of Brienne’s mouth on hers, the strength of her embrace.

“Only –” she broke away, gasping, when the heat in her belly threatened to ignite. “Only that and nothing more?” She aimed for archness in her tone, for control in her manner, but fell far short.

Brienne took her chin in her hand and guided her face back, looking searchingly into her eyes. Whatever she saw there apparently satisfied her. She kissed Cersei again; pushed her back into the wall of the alcove; ground her hips against her suggestively. Cersei shuddered.

“Take me to your chamber, then,” Brienne whispered, kissing across her jaw, down her neck. Her hand found Cersei’s breast; she cupped it through the silk gown. “There can be more – if you like?”

She raised her head to look at Cersei, the question ringing between them.

Brienne’s eyes went suddenly very soft, but Cersei was having none of that. She pulled away and strode decisively down the corridor that wound its lazy way through the Red Keep to her chamber. She didn’t look back, thinking surely the knight would follow even if the maid would not.

She was right.

A moment later and Brienne had caught her hand. She didn’t let go of it the entire walk back. Cersei was grateful for the late hour, and that the revellers at the feast were absorbed in their own pleasures. They were alone in the corridors. Cersei tugged Brienne along, her stride confident and quick despite the wine she had drunk. Brienne walked beside her, looking straight ahead, saying nothing. They were nearly there.

And then, suddenly, Cersei was jerked to the side, pushed into the wall with the full length and weight of Brienne’s body. Brienne bent to kiss her again, a bruising, searing kiss that shocked her with its naked desire.

“You tease and you flirt,” Brienne murmured against her mouth, “you provoke, and you flick your pretty hair. You mock the maid; but you have stirred the knight.”

Brienne’s hands came up and tangled in Cersei’s hair. Cersei bit down on Brienne’s neck; Brienne’s hands tightened into fists, pulling and pulling. Cersei cried out – not in pain – but Brienne pulled away, breathing heavily. Her eyes were dark; they burned into Cersei’s.

She took Cersei’s hand and raised it to her lips, kissing it formally.

Cersei raised an eyebrow. What was this?

A second later, she gasped as Brienne sucked a fingertip into her mouth, hot and wet and filthy. Teeth ran along the sensitive pad of her finger.

She took a shaky breath. “I see that I was mistaken. You are no maid.”

Brienne smiled. “No more than you are yourself, Your Grace.”

Cersei drew back a hand to slap her for that impudence – but Brienne easily caught her wrist and pinned it back against the wall, dipping to kiss her again with a heated chuckle.

Pinned to the wall and panting with desire, Cersei shook her head in something like wonder. How on earth had this come about? She had meant to put Brienne in her place tonight – to take her measure and put her down. Somewhere, she had lost control – had never had control of this woman, truthfully. And yet, her desire felt safe.

Desire _never_ felt safe.

She swore under her breath; Brienne had reached down with her free hand; slid it up between Cersei’s legs, applying pressure at just the right place.

Cersei’s head fell back against the wall; her breath grew jagged as Brienne worked her. Her touch, even through the fabric of her gown, was straightforward, unsubtle, infinitely pleasing in its honesty. She almost moaned aloud before she remembered the attendant who would be waiting for her in her chamber just a few feet away.

“Stop, stop,” she gasped.

Brienne stilled instantly.

“Just – not here. Let me –” She pulled away, straightened her gown and walked, unsteadily now, to her door. Brienne crowded up behind her, her calloused hand closed over Cersei’s on the door handle.

“I need to dismiss my attendant,” Cersei whispered, but Brienne had already fastened her mouth to Cersei’s neck. Cersei closed her eyes and breathed hard.

At last Brienne pulled back. “Do it now, then, Your Grace, or I’ll have you here in the hall.”

A girl – not more than a dozen years old, surely – rose from her pallet as they entered.

“Your Grace,” the girl said, looking at Brienne with open curiosity.

“I’ll need no attendance tonight,” Cersei told her. “Pour out some wine and then leave us.”

The girl nodded and did as she was bid, passing a goblet first to Cersei, who drank deeply, and then to Brienne who nodded her thanks and set it down without tasting. She did not take her eyes from Cersei’s face.

“See that I’m not disturbed,” Cersei called as the girl left. “I’ll summon you when you’re needed.”

And then the door closed behind her, and they were alone.

Cersei drained her glass and poured another.

Brienne stepped closer.

“Your Grace,” she said, taking the glass from Cersei’s fingers and setting it aside.

The time for restraint was long past. There was a flurry of movement; whether Brienne or Cersei acted first, or how, Cersei could not say, but Brienne’s hands were snaking up under her gown, and her own were grasping at Brienne’s broad shoulders, and they were kissing, kissing frantically, and she was lifted, legs around Brienne’s waist, writhing to grind against her, and then they were moving, and the next thing she knew she was being tossed onto her own bed, and Brienne was atop her, sucking bruises into her throat.

Cersei moaned, and Brienne nipped again. For long minutes, Brienne seemed content to feast on Cersei’s throat and Cersei struggled and flailed beneath her, thrusting up in search of contact, groaning in gratitude when Brienne finally opened her own legs, scissoring up against her sex.

Brienne broke away, growling in frustration then. She grabbed huge handfuls of Cersei’s delicate silk gown and pulled it away – “Off! Off!” – tossing it carelessly aside to feast her eyes on Cersei’s nakedness: slender, soft, and golden in the dim light of the single lamp.

Brienne sat back to look her fill. “Gods help me,” she whispered, then bent to mouth at Cersei’s thighs. She licked up her belly, took a rosy nipple in her mouth and suckled fiercely. Cersei arched up, crying out; her body so hungry for pleasure. Brienne teased the nipple with her teeth and Cersei swore quietly. She released it, blew cool air over the delicate skin, then bit at it again before moving to the other. With Brienne’s mouth at one breast and her hand on the other, Cersei closed her eyes and felt the pleasure burn within her. Brienne pulled away just long enough to remove her own clothing, and then she was back, naked flesh to naked flesh, mouths and breasts and bellies and cunts and thighs flush together, vibrations of pleasure amplifying between them.

Brienne held her in her power that night. Looking back, days later, Cersei knew that it was true: she was bewitched, enchanted by the maiden knight who sought nothing but her pleasure. An hour, at least, she supped on her breasts, caressing, licking, biting; shepherding Cersei from gentle arousal to fierce, blinding want, and then back down again, again and again.

Each inch of her was tasted and found pleasing. Cersei quivered. She had never had such protracted pleasure. In her impatience, she grabbed at Brienne and thrust against her – but every thrust was thwarted.

“Oh no, pet,” Brienne breathed, tongue darting out, serpent-like, for tiny tastes that made Cersei shudder and jerk beneath her. “Not yet. Not yet.”

It was a battle, really, because everything was; but whether Brienne was the battlefield or the prize, Cersei was no longer certain that she cared.

When Brienne at last bent to nose at the golden crown of hair where Cersei’s legs joined, bent to taste the pink, velvet secrets within, Cersei gave up thinking altogether. She gasped under her, entire body now flushed rosy, thrust up against Brienne’s mouth, slim thighs writhing, then parting shamelessly. It was an invitation verging on a royal decree, but Brienne pulled back slowly, running her tongue but lightly along the salt seam of her sex.

Cersei was as close to begging as she had ever been. Brienne licked lightly up her sex again, looking up at her, eyes bright. Again and again, she traced her tongue up and down the slit of Cersei’s sex, but she did not delve into it – not once, not for all Cersei’s wild thrusting and moaning.

Fire raged through her; she was on the edge of her pleasure, so very close to the precipice, and that is where Brienne kept her, shoring up the fire with precise, perfectly-judged licks that had her thrashing and wailing, and then withdrawing into the barest movements of skin against skin until every inch of her burned and pleasure seemed an endless sea.

“Let me come,” she gritted out, again and again, but Brienne only shook her head and the slight motion of it against Cersei’s sex, so aroused now, was enough to make her wild.

“You beast! Let me come!”

“And what will you give me in return, Your Grace?” Brienne was breathless, her own cheeks stained scarlet with want.

Cersei snarled. “My hands. My mouth. What you will.”

Brienne raised an eyebrow, considering.

“Your hands?” she asked, and rose up, straddling Cersei’s body. Roughly, she pulled Cersei’s hands down to her own dripping sex.

Cersei worked her hard for a minute, thumb on her clit and fingers thrusting deep inside. Brienne clenched around her; it only added fuel to her own fire.

Brienne closed her eyes and rode her hands for a few minutes, gasping. Cersei was just learning her rhythm when suddenly she groaned and pulled away. “No, I think not. Not your hands.”

She moved up Cersei’s body until she was bracketing her head with her alabaster, muscled thighs. “Your mouth, perhaps?” And with that she ground herself down into Cersei’s open mouth.

She was wet – so wet – and so, so delicious. Cersei licked and sucked at her open cunt, and the musky fragrance of her was as intoxicating as wine had ever been. Brienne gritted out a shaky moan above her and Cersei felt a rush of power that went straight to her cunt.

“Please,” she was murmuring into Brienne’s cunt as she licked. “Oh please. Please.” She thrust her tongue deep inside Brienne, and the woman went rigid with pleasure atop her.

Cersei watched her muscled stomach contract.

Suddenly she pulled away, but a second later she was back, position reversed, and lowed her dripping cunt into Cersei’s mouth once more as she bent to mouth at Cersei’s sex. This time, she didn’t tease. She thrust her fingers deep into Cersei and pulled her clit into her mouth, sucking and licking at it in a punishing rhythm; Cersei mirrored her actions.

Scant minutes later Cersei arched up and cried out, full-throated – couldn’t help it. Pleasure, held so long in check, ran riot through her body: pooled low in her belly then spread up and out in a glorious wave, sweeping through every part of her as she writhed and sobbed and Brienne ground into her from above, crying out as her own pleasure took her.

When Cersei came back to herself, Brienne was still on top of her, shaking with aftershocks. Cersei should have hated it; should have felt trapped, demeaned. She didn’t.

She traced Brienne’s skin – so white it almost glowed – lightly with her fingers, smiling when Brienne shuddered atop her. This, too, was power.

Brienne stirred at last. Pulled herself off and collapsed beside Cersei on the bed.

Cersei finally got her breath back enough to speak.

“You _knight_ ,” she said. Her tone was accusatory, yet she smiled.

Brienne blinked. “I trust I pleased Your Grace?”

Cersei snorted. “False modesty does not suit you, Knight. You know you did.”

“I was not – too rough with you? At the end?”

At that, Cersei laughed, the sound more bitter than she intended. “See you blood, Knight? Have I wounds? Do I weep? No? You are more gentle than the gentlest man I have known.”

Brienne bent to lay a kiss on her head. And then, with studied casualness, she put a protective arm around Cersei; drew her in close. Her other hand was clenched in a fist.

Cersei nearly laughed again before she caught herself. It was true, wasn’t it? The woman couldn’t be subtle to save her life.

How interesting, she thought. How very -- useful.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Femslash February 2016. Brienne/Cersei is a rare pair indeed, but I ship them SO HARD.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
